


Ashes of the Conclave

by skullys_machete



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Academia, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Modern Thedas, Thedas without Magic, archeology
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-09
Updated: 2018-04-27
Packaged: 2019-03-28 21:55:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13912959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skullys_machete/pseuds/skullys_machete
Summary: The Modern AU Rivalmance I didn’t know I wanted...Everything about Nehna Lavellan annoys him. From her unkempt hair to her ridiculously impractical footwear, she is a picture of all he hates about this time. That she pigheadedly refuses to see the truth of her history even as it is laid out before her hardly comes as a surprise. And yet… there is something about her. Something he can't explain. She might be the only one who can help him tear down the Veil. She might be the only reason not to.***Four centuries ago, an explosion killed the Last Divine, throwing the Chantry and all of Thedas into chaos. The closer Nehna and Solas come to discovering the truth of that fateful day, the more it seems that Thedas will be thrown into chaos all over again.





	1. Pieces

**SOLAS**

* * *

He had known it would be broken. Rationally, he knew that was the only way that things could have turned out the way they had. Yet, somehow being confronted with the pieces made it all horrifically real. Each unearthed shard was a knife in his heart. Here, it seemed, were the smashed remains of his once massive ego. His great scheme was over. He would wander this new, dead world for all time.

He probably deserved it.

So, he obsessed over them. He painstakingly cataloged every tiny sliver. He made line drawings of each piece. He sent them out for every test imaginable and kept the results in perfectly organized files searchable by the coded number of its corresponding shard. He took detailed measurements; mathematically determining the size, shape, and weight of the thing if it were whole.

As if he didn’t know all of that without calculating. As if he couldn’t sketch a perfect, life-size likeness of the thing in his sleep. As if he didn’t see it whenever he closed his eyes.

“Incredible.”

Solas jumped at the sudden sound. Even though he had kept the door to the rotunda in his peripheral vision, he had been so lost in thought that he had not noticed her walk in.

“Leliana. I didn’t hear you enter.” He gestured to the drawing on his lap as if to indicate that it was what he had been engrossed in.

The Director of Research always seemed to have a sly little smile on her face and this moment was no exception. She returned her gaze to the four shards lying on his stainless steel laboratory table. The latest findings from their excavation. “I was thinking how very incredible that something so innocuous could have thrown our whole world into such chaos.” Her hands hovered, poised over the pieces as though she was exerting willpower to keep herself from picking them up. It was not an uncommon response; he had documented similar reactions from at least a dozen people. Those files, he kept to himself. “You are certain there is no trace of radiation?”

“We have run every test.”

“Hmm.” She considered the pieces for a moment longer before putting her hands back at her sides. “I read your report. I know better by now not to ask you for more sources, but the temptation always remains.”

“I assure you, the artifact is elven.” He set the work he had not been able to focus on down on the drafting table.

“And yet, Dr. Pavus has been able to produce ancient Tevinter references to similar items. _Somnaborium_ , he called them.”

“Ah, yes. The _Vessels of Dreams_. Very poetic,” Solas replied, not bothering to hide his disdain. “If Dr. Pavus would only pursue those references to their sources, he would quickly discover that none of them predate contact with the Ancient Elves.”

Leliana sighed but a curl of her lip betrayed the pleasure she always took in being in the center of an academic disagreement. “You have given me more than enough reason to trust your instincts, Solas. We would not have any artifact at all if not for your _improbable_ deduction of the temple’s location.”

Something in her voice suggested she was leading the conversation to someplace less pleasant. “ _However_ ,” he prodded her.

“However,” she affirmed, “as the object itself predates the Conclave by many centuries, it matters little to us where it came from. What matters is who brought it there. What did they intend and how did they accomplish it?”

Of course. How silly of him to believe the Chantry would fund such a massive undertaking in order to understand an object that once held power beyond their reckoning. They had a murder mystery to solve. They had politics and wars of words to wage. The true impact of the history they held in their hands could wait until they had someone to blame.

“The object may have been a novelty for the people of the time. We might look to inventories of noble collectors.” He knew where that thread could lead them, if he could keep from interfering. That was a long, pointless road. It would buy him a great deal of time.

“We will certainly do that.”

There was that open-ended tone again. “ _However?_ ”

She sighed and there was no hint of enjoyment on her face this time. “There is a political component to consider.” She crossed her arms and paced the room. “Dr. Pavus has already sent word to Minrathous regarding the object’s possible Empirical origin. Because his father is a Magister, they have decided he is an acceptable representative for Tevinter’s interests, should we find further evidence of their involvement in the death of the Divine.”

She looked at him significantly. Her pale blue eyes and the tilt of her head conveyed that she expected him to guess what came next. He suspected this was one of those places where his lack of knowledge--and indeed _interest_ \--in modern politics formed hairline cracks in the charade he was playing.

“And?”

Her lips thinned. “And, now that you’ve documented your opinion, we will have to inform the elves.”

The elves, such as they were. “All of them?” he said sarcastically.

“Solas,” she scolded. “We will have to reach out to the Dalish.” He winced. “Josephine is drafting a release for the clan leaders as we speak. She suspects they will send someone to protect their… reputation.”

“The artifact predates the Dalish by centuries. It predates the enslavement of--”

“As I said, the artifact’s origin matters little. But if it is elven, as you have _publicly_ suggested,” she gave him a severe look, “then the Dalish may have had knowledge or possession of it at the time of the Conclave.”

“Ah.”

“Given your outspoken criticism of the Dalish, I assume you do not have any political pull there?”

“I have no political pull anywhere,” Solas replied a little more bitterly than he intended.

“A pity,” said Leliana. “I will keep you apprised. Enjoy your solitude while you can, Solas.”

 

**NEHNA**

* * *

“Did you call for an ambulance?”

The old woman was half deaf and didn’t seem to hear her. She continued chanting over the boy, rocking back and forth with her hands raised to the skies, murmuring plaintive prayers to Sylaise and Mythal.

Not that it mattered. The _Eir’melan’arla_ was extremely remote and it had been snowing all week in the pass. In the time it took for an ambulance to get there… _Fuck_. Nehna looked back at the boy bleeding out on the table and continued to put pressure on the wound. He wasn’t crying anymore, she realized with a shiver.

The little girl looked up at Nehna with red-ringed eyes. “Maela said to call _ladarelan’elgar_ first,” she said softly.

“ _Sylaise_ ,” Nehna swore under her breath. The girl and the old woman, who must have been able to read the deity's name on Nehna’s lips, took it for an addition to their pleas to the Goddess of healing. The old woman nodded and closed her eyes as she prayed. “Did you call for an ambulance _after_ you called me?”

The girl nodded. Thank the creators for small favors. At least the boy had a chance, slim as it was.

Nehna thought she had finally escaped those stories; outgrown them. She had spent nearly seven years avoiding the clan in an attempt to outrun those stories. _Spirit Healer_. She nearly swore again. How could they still think she was touched by the gods after everything  _else_ that had happened?

The boy’s lips had gone pale. The girl and the old woman watched Nehna while they held hands and sang an old hymn to Sylaise. The old woman smiled at Nehna encouragingly. Knowingly.

Faithfully.

_Fuck._

_Should have stayed in medical school._

That might have meant _ten_ years away from the clan. Then she’d know what to do in this situation _and_ she wouldn’t be in it in the first place.

_Fuck._

There was nothing else she could do and she couldn’t just stand there while he bled out. At any moment that annoyingly erratic aversion to blood could kick in and she’d be unconscious on the floor. Passing out didn’t make people feel better. Nehna instructed the girl to hold onto the tourniquet and started to go through the motions.

 _Time for the spirit healer show_ , she thought dryly.

She put her right hand over the boy’s heart. It still beat steadily; comfortingly. The other hand went over the wound. He was so small, she barely had to open her arms. She breathed deeply and thought about everything she knew about the body. She thought about the veins and arteries pushing blood all around and then out the massive tear in his leg.

“What is his name?”

“Eliel.”

“Eliel,” Nehna repeated.

She breathed in and out and focused until she could see, in her mind’s eye, Eliel and herself alone in a dense forest. This was where she always went. It was a forest the likes of which only existed in legend and in Nehna’s imagination. A thick canopy of leaves blocked all but the faintest speckles of sunlight. The sunlight was what they needed.

Parting the leaves took time and effort but the speckles expanded into dapples that expanded into rays of warm, golden sunshine. Liquid light shone down onto Nehna and, like a prism, she guided it into Eliel. She could feel herself warming and glowing. She imagined the warmth covering Eliel’s wound like a shield of light, she imagined it holding together the delicate vessels of his leg and rebinding the tissues there.

She whispered his name again.

Suddenly, the door to the cabin slammed open, breaking Nehna’s concentration. She felt the absence of her imaginary sun’s warmth like she’d been splashed with cold water.

“Out of the way, please,” said someone who had clearly had to say that too many times for one day.

“Nehna turned to see the EMTs coming in the door with their kits and a stretcher. Humans, of course, looking too big for the small space. She looked back at Eliel, who was watching her calmly through big brown eyes. Was she imagining it, or was there more color in his face? How long had she been meditating over him? She stepped back and let the professionals do their work, then almost jumped out of her skin when she felt a hand on hers.

“Thank you, _ladarelan’elgar_ ,” said the old woman as she clutched Nehna’s hand tightly. “Thank the Creators for bringing you to us.”

Nehna swallowed.

Her mind raced as she made the short walk back to the Keeper’s cabin.

Had she done it again?

Impossible. She had never actually done it in the done it in the first place.

Hadn’t she, though?

_No!_

She clenched her fists. Luck and circumstance had melded together with blind faith, fairy tales, and her own delusions of importance. It was a natural phenomenon of the mind that made her believe she had accomplished something special but that was all it was. Just that good old ego protecting her established paradigm.

The boy had been lucky. The EMTs had been faster than usual. Maybe faith had helped him press on--there was scientific precedence for that.

She was nearly to the door when she realized she was covered in blood. Like magic, acknowledging it made her feel dizzy and nauseated. It didn’t make any sense. She’d been looking at blood for an hour at least. Touching it. Smelling it. _Not again. Not now_. She reeled forward just as the door opened. Her shoulder met the floor and everything went black.

* * *

“Because some flat-ear says the object is elven?”

Haleir’s voice would have pulled Nehna out of a coma; she found it _that_ grating. She blinked up at the whitewashed ceiling, recognizing the support underneath her as the soft cushions of the couch in the Keeper’s front room. Colored light flashed against the wall from a screen. Not the TV screen, though.

“The Chantry gives the man great credit, though we have not been able to determine where he earned his knowledge,” a heavily accented voice rang out from cheap, tinny-sounding speakers.

Nehna twisted a little to look and see what was going on. Keeper Deshanna, the wizened old Hahren, and Haleir were seated around the computer having some kind of teleconference. Deshanna must have brought Haleir in to deal with the technology. Unless she was planning on officially making him her First?

Nehna blinked frantically. Those did look like other Keepers. Why now? She had said she would make her final decision at the next _Arlathvhen_ and that was months away!

“It matters not whether this Chantry elf is correct in his assumptions,” said another voice from the computer. “The idea has been planted in the garden of public knowledge. We must nip it before it becomes a weed.”

They weren’t talking about Nehna at all. This couldn’t be about Deshanna’s decision. Nehna scrambled up from the couch and crossed the room.

“Ah, you are awake, _lethallan_ ,” said Haleir in a voice that he probably thought was soothing and sensual. The other women in the clan certainly seemed to think so. It made Nehna ill.

“ _Ma Nehn_ ,” said Deshanna with a warm smile. “Please join us, we are discussing news of some importance.” She turned back to the screen. “You all will remember my First, Nehna.”

The other Keepers nodded and greeted her with _Da’lans_ and _Lethallans_ . Nehna could see Haleir crossing his arms out of the corner of her eye. It grated him that Nehna kept the title he wanted so badly. _Good_. That was the only thing she enjoyed about their stupid competition.

“I think I can speak for all of us when I say that we will defer to Deshanna’s opinion in this matter,” said the youngest of the other Keepers on the screen. “Clan Lavellan is the largest of us and they interact most closely with the shemlen.”

“We have trusted Clan Lavellan with the last of our Halla. We can trust them in this, also,” said another Keeper.

“I am honored.” Deshanna gave the screen a nod of reverence.

“She’s going to send you,” Haleir whispered in Nehna’s ear. Nehna jerked back in surprise and saw that he was smirking at her. The snaking vines of his vallaslin looked stark and black in the light from the screen. “She’s going to send you away and I’ll finally take your place.”

“Send me where?” Nehna hissed back at him. “What’s going on?”

“Nehna will go,” Deshanna announced. “Of all our people, there is none with a more discerning mind. And there is no one I trust more to follow their heart.” She reached back and pulled Nehna in beside her, looking her in the eye significantly.

“I don’t understand.”

“Yes,” said the young Keeper. “With her education, she is the most fitting opponent for the Chantry’s so-called Elven expert.”

The other Keepers nodded at their cameras.

“What a relief to have this decided so quickly,” said Haleir with his fox smile.

Nehna thought she might faint again.


	2. Skyhold

**NEHNA**

* * *

 

1/15/13:24 06:46AM Josephine M:

| 

Cabot will pick you up at ORZ gate. Black sedan w/Chantry logo. Keep me up to date.  
  
---|---  
  
1/15/13:24 06:47AM Josephine M:

| 

I look forward to meeting you in person!  
  
1/15/13:24 07:33AM Me:

| 

Likewise!  
  
1/15/13:24 09:43AM Me:

| 

We’ve left for Ansburg. ETA 3:30.  
  
1/15/13:24 10:04AM Josephine M:

| 

Just received confirmation from ANN. They’ll have a crew in for a brief interview.  
  
1/15/13:24 10:06AM Me:

| 

I’m going to be on the news?? What do I say?  
  
1/15/13:24 12:18PM Josephine M:

| 

Don’t worry! We vetted the questions. Softball.  
  
1/15/13:24 12:24PM Josephine M sent a document: interviewquestionpool.doc  
  
1/15/13:24 12:30PM Me:

| 

Will I have a chance to clean up?  
  
1/15/13:24 03:41PM Me:

| 

Ms. Montilyet?  
  
1/15/13:24 04:02PM Me:

| 

Boarding plane to Kirkwall.  
  
1/15/13:24 06:29PM Josephine M:

| 

Sorry! I have to run to Lydes for another presser. Everything is set up. Cassandra will brief you.  
  
1/15/13:24 09:01PM Me:

| 

Flight to Jader delayed. Will this cause a problem?  
  
1/15/13:24 11:16PM Josephine M:

| 

I warned Cabot and Cassandra. Don’t worry, we’ll get you there!  
  
1/16/13:24 03:42AM Me:

| 

Boarding plane to Jader.  
  
1/16/13:24 07:59AM Josephine M:

| 

Upgraded your train ticket. Have lunch on me! :)  
  
1/16/13:24 09:12AM Me:

| 

Personal compartment!! Thank you!  
  
1/16/13:24 09:17AM Josephine M:

| 

Cabot is en route. You should be at SH just in time for dinner. Good luck  
  
* * *

 

1/16/13:24 11:25AM Deshanna:

| 

Have you arrived safely, da’lan?  
  
---|---  
  
1/16/13:24 11:40AM Me:

| 

On train to Orzammar. I was stuck in Kirkwall all night. :(  
  
1/16/13:24 11:43AM Deshanna:

| 

You could have walked Sundermount.  
  
1/16/13:24 11:49AM Me:

| 

Not at night!!  
  
1/16/13:24 11:55AM Deshanna:

| 

Andruil would have guided your feet.  
  
1/16/13:24 11:57AM Deshanna:

| 

But I should not tease you, da’lan. The humans will test your patience enough.  
  
1/16/13:24 12:00PM Me:

| 

They want me to interview with ANN.  
  
1/16/13:24 12:07PM Deshanna:

| 

Chantry TV? Do not let them trick you. They will try to demonize the People.  
  
1/16/13:24 12:24PM Me:

| 

I’ll be careful.  
  
1/16/13:24 12:28PM Deshanna:

| 

I know, da’lan. That is why we chose you. Mythal’s grace! Be well!  
  
* * *

 

1/16/13:24 04:46PM Ivun:

| 

Will U watch Siona Friday  
  
---|---  
  
1/16/13:24 04:52PM Me:

| 

Ivun. I’m in FERELDEN.  
  
1/16/13:24 04:59PM Ivun:

| 

WTF  
  
1/16/13:24 05:00PM Ivun:

| 

When are you coming back???  
  
1/16/13:24 05:09PM Me:

| 

We talked about this. I don’t know!  
  
1/16/13:24 05:18PM Ivun:

| 

O ya. That shem thing? Say hey to Andraste for me. LOL  
  
1/16/13:24 05:21PM Ivun:

| 

But I rlly need a sitter. U know someone?  
  
1/16/13:24 05:29PM Me:

| 

I’ll make some calls.  
  
1/16/13:24 05:38PM Ivun:

| 

This is why UR my fave sister!!  
  
1/16/13:24 05:40PM Me:

| 

I’m your *only* sister.  
  
1/16/13:24 05:41PM Ivun:

| 

Thank Mythal! ;)  
  
1/16/13:24 05:44PM Ivun:

| 

When U have kids I’ll owe U a lot of babysitting. LOL  
  
1/16/13:24 05:49PM Me:

| 

Not. Happening.  
  
1/16/13:24 06:11PM Ivun:

| 

Never say never fenlin ;) ;)  
  
 

* * *

 

 

“You’re missing a hell of a view, kid,” said the driver. He had a rough look about him that belied a friendly disposition. The thick, dark lines tattooed into his face marked him as a surfacer, a dwarf as proud to have never set foot in Orzammar as the dwarves there were proud never to have seen the sky. Wearing a badge like that on your face was always a bold statement, as Nehna knew better than most.

Regardless of his appearance, Cabot had been nothing but kind during the long drive from the train station at the Orzammar Gate. Admittedly, Nehna had slept through most of it.

“My brother,” she said as she slipped her phone back into her bag. “I’m a little worried about leaving him behind. He isn’t very good at being an adult.”

“Heh. I’ve got one of those, too. Baby sister. Youngest of four. Bet you can guess how that goes.”

“Your sister’s got an excuse, at least! Ivun’s older than me.”

Cabot chuckled. “You gotta set ‘em free. It’s the only way they learn. We’re rounding the mountain again. Check out this sunset.”

He was right. The view was incredible. The sun was sinking into the Frostbacks, throwing thick beams of red light in between snow-capped peaks. The sky surrounding them was impossibly blue. Nehna had spent nearly all her life in the mountains of the Free Marches but had never seen anything so iconically _mountainous._

“You weren’t lying,” said Nehna. “The Vinmarks have got nothing on these.”

That wasn’t the end to the incredible scenery, either. Around the next bend, Skyhold came into view. Nehna had seen pictures. In anticipation for this trip, she had grabbed the Skyhold tour episode of _Mysteries of the Chantry_ from the library to rewatch it for probably the fifth time. She would have recognized it anywhere, but actually seeing plopped down on top of a mountain like it was--that was another experience entirely.

They called Skyhold the Last Wonder of the World and, while calling it _the last_ seemed a bit defeatist, it was definitely a wonder. It looked impossible. It looked like it could not have been built; instead, some enormous being must have dropped it there. Perhaps that explained some of its importance to the Chantry. They might believe their Maker had done the dropping or, at the very least, that he had empowered the hands of its builders.

Dr. Sabrae, Nehna’s favorite advisor at university, had always said that Skyhold’s foundations had been laid by the ancient elves, only to be repurposed by humans centuries later. To be fair, however, he said that about every moderately impressive human accomplishment.

Whatever it’s beginnings, Skyhold had become a symbol of the Chantry’s dedication to progress. In the eighty years since its rediscovery, they had spent countless millions of sovereigns refurbishing it. In that same Skyhold episode of _Mysteries of the Chantry,_  Leliana--host of the show and actual Chantry researcher--had said the work on Skyhold would never truly be complete. It had looked pretty well complete to Nehna. Skyhold’s living quarters looked like an upscale hotel and it’s laboratories made the facilities at the Royal Academy of Starkhaven look like the clan’s shabby community centers.

The serpentine road made another twist that blocked Skyhold from view, but the excitement remained.

“So you just drive up and down the mountain all day, enjoying the scenery?” Nehna asked. “How do you land a job like that?”

“Legacy, kid. I was born to do this. Like my father and his father before him, all born chauffeurs.”

“Really?”

Cabot laughed again. “No. I used to tend bar at this total dive in Val Royeaux. One night, I’m chatting up one of my regulars and I mention I have my CDL. She says she’s running a project that involves going back and forth between Haven and Skyhold and needs someone who won’t get nervous driving these roads in the winter. Next thing you know, I’ve got a way better-paying gig. Gotta wake up a lot earlier in the morning, but I take the good with the bad.”

“Are you saying Leliana was a regular at a dive bar? _The_ Leliana?”

“Oh, yeah. Tuesdays, 7:23 PM on the dot. Fereldan whiskey with three cherries.”

“Incredible.”

“You be careful with her, kid. She’s good to her friends but she’ll cut a bitch in a heartbeat.”

Nehna didn’t have a good response to that. Deshanna had said something similar: _Beware of humans who seem nice on TV._  According to Ms. Montilyet, though, it had been Leliana who had insisted on bringing in a Dalish representative. Didn’t that mean she was looking out for The People? Wasn’t that worth something?

Cabot swore.

“What is it?”

They had rounded the mountainside for the last time and Skyhold was now looming in front of them on the other side of a deep crevasse. A tall barbed wire fence and security outpost blocked the only path to the castle from the rest of the world. A small crowd of people had gathered outside the gate. Some of them were carrying signs.

_Desecration!_

_Keep the Divine’s grave divine!_

_Progress without Piety isn't Progress!_

“Resurgence protesters,” said Cabot.

Just like that, any excitement Nehna had felt was gone.

There wasn’t a lot of them but, then again, there didn’t _need_ to be a lot of them. All they needed was one man with a molotov cocktail and--

_And it would tumble uselessly down the mountainside._

_Breathe, Nehna._

This wasn’t Markham. Skyhold wasn’t some improperly built shack in one of the _Melan’arlen_. This protest wasn’t about elves.

 _Yet_.

That’s what she was there to prevent. No pressure.

_Fuck._

Nehna pressed back into her seat and crossed her arms tightly.

“Don’t you worry about them, sweetheart,” said Cabot. “This sort of thing is exactly what we have security for. Ser Rutherford doesn’t let these guys get too rowdy.”

As if on cue, the gates opened up and a half-dozen templars came out, rifles in hand, to keep any of the crowd from slipping by while the car went through. It did little to ease Nehna’s anxiety. There had been templars in Markham, too. She only started to relax when she heard the gates clash to a close behind them.

They crossed the bridge over the crevasse as a flock of ravens flew by. That was exactly the sort of thing Deshanna would have told Nehna to look out for. A sign from Dirthamen, surely. Nehna rolled her eyes and watched as Skyhold loomed nearer.

A few final rays of sunlight backlit the mountains and a sea of stars was just becoming visible. A stone arch marked the threshold to the keep proper. Carved into it were the words: _Within my Creation, None are Alone_.

 _Good choice. Better than that_ Wrath of Heaven _stuff, anyway._

“See,” said Cabot. “What did I tell you? Safe as houses. And here’s _Lady_ Pentaghast to escort you to the big party.” He rolled down his window and removed his hat in mock reverence to a severe-looking woman who had just walked up. “My lady.”

“You’re late.”

“Have you ever been to Orzammar? Traffic is hell up there.”

The woman scowled. “Just get her things to facilities, will you?” She walked around to Nehna’s side of the car and opened the door. “Welcome to Skyhold, Dr. Lavellan.”

Cabot had used the honorific ironically, but Nehna had done her research. Shems could be very touchy about their titles, after all. Cassandra Pentaghast had retired from the templars, so her military rank was no longer applicable, but she was also Nevarran royalty which, as far as Nehna knew, was not something one could retire from. So, _My Lady_ really was the appropriate address.

“Lady Pentaghast, I presume?”

She groaned and looked accusingly at Cabot, as though it was his fault. “You may call me Cassandra.” Cassandra held out her hand and then lifted Nehna out of the car with disturbing ease.

“In that case,” said Nehna, happy to do away with formalities, “please call me Nehna.”

Cassandra nodded stiffly and looked her over. “There is a reporter from the network. Are you ready?”

 _No_. Nehna was certain she would _never_ be ready for a TV interview.

“I think so? I looked over Ms. Montilyet’s questions but then I had to put on my makeup in the car and I think my suit’s a bit wrinkled from sitting.” She brushed at her skirt self-consciously and, realizing it was turned halfway around, shimmied it back into place. “I’m a bit nervous, to be honest.”

Cassandra’s expression softened. “Do not worry too much. They won’t even air this if the Resurgence does some other stupid thing.” She led Nehna up a wide stone staircase leading to a huge wooden door reinforced with ornate iron scrollwork. Just before the door she turned around. “I will confess, I expected someone more….”

She was eying Nehna’s suit, Nehna could guess where she was heading. “Traditional?” she offered. Deshanna had tried talking her into a midriff-bearing set of ceremonial armor. _Show them you are a warrior, da’lan_. Nehna had gone with the suit she had defended her dissertation in, instead. Her academic armor, perhaps. “My halla-wool sweaters are all in my suitcase,” she joked.

“I didn’t mean--oh, but I suppose I did mean it that way.” Cassandra looked genuinely chastened. “I apologize.”

“Don’t. If someone else had come, you would have gotten exactly what you expected. I’m no stranger to shh--” _Don’t say_ shem _in front of the shems, Nehna!_ “--conventional dress.” They crossed the threshold into the main building of Skyhold. “But I really do have a halla-wool sweater in my suitcase.”

 

**SOLAS**

* * *

 

“It’s just politics,” said Leliana. Perhaps she thought she was being soothing. She pulled her jacket straight and shot a friendly smile at a man with a camera.

“That is no more comforting now than it was the first five times you said it,” Solas grumbled.

An elven servant--no, a _facilities crewmember_ \--rushed past them carrying a tray bright with colorful vegetables. At least he would be served a decent meal while his professional integrity was insulted.

“You are taking this very personally.” Leliana’s smile disappeared as the camera was pointed elsewhere. She replaced it with a reproachful scowl. “I told you to keep your findings confidential, Solas. You were the one who posted your report to the server.”

“I wanted it to be accessible to--”

“You wanted to show up Dorian. Congratulations, you succeeded. _This_ ,” she gestured to the cheerful spread at the table, then to the reporter and her cameramen, “is your reward."

Solas sighed. The truth was much more embarrassing than a simple battle of egos between himself and Dr. Pavus. The truth was that he barely understood the technology of the time. How did poking letters into a glowing box make it public information? It still baffled him. The fact that his own misstep was the catalyst for what might be his ruin did nothing to improve his mood.

“Cheer up, Solas. You might even like our Dalish guest. She’s very well educated.”

“Is she,” said Solas without interest. After all, what passed for education in that time was as cold and empty as the soulless masses who propagated it. Realizing just how melodramatic the whole endeavor had made him, he suppressed another sigh. “I have been told nothing about her. This is the first I’m hearing that the Dalish is a she.”

“I knew you’d pretend not to care.” Leliana’s smile returned, wider and more devious than before. “Is that what you are going to wear?”

“That was my intention.”

Leliana shrugged and sauntered away with that infuriating smile still on her face.

Solas crossed his arms and glanced down. He grimaced. There was a smudge of charcoal across the arm of his shirt, just above the cuff. _Damn_. Had Leliana seen it, or had she only been trying to rankle him some more? Oh, she had certainly seen it. She was nearly as fastidious as he was. As little as he cared for the fashion conventions of that time, it wouldn’t be appropriate to show up to a banquet in a soiled shirt. He sighed as he turned on his heel, abandoning the Great Hall for the labyrinthine interior of Skyhold.

He continued into a hallway that was dappled with rich blues and greens from the painstakingly restored stained glass windows that lined the exterior wall. To his further annoyance, another man came striding confidently from the opposite direction. _The Tevinter Peacock._ Solas would have passed him by without a word but, of course, Dorian could not pass up an opportunity to hear his own voice.

“You’re going the wrong way,” Dorian said cheekily. He looked even gaudier than usual; his well-tailored jacket was emblazoned with red and orange poppies. Was this display for the newcomer or for the camera crew?

Solas fingered the stain on his sleeve. “I’ll be back in plenty of time to properly greet my new overseer.”

“Good, good!” Dorian flashed a grin full of perfect white teeth. “We don’t want her to feel _too_ welcome, after all.” He winked.

As Solas moved to pass him, Dorian delayed him with a light tap on his shoulder. “If you’re making a costume change, I’d recommend that blue pullover you wore to the Wintersend party. If you still have it. It really brought out the color of your eyes.”

Another sigh threatened to reveal Solas’ aggravation. He held it back and looked up, as though pleading for divine intervention, before continuing toward his room. If only he could have woken up during a time of war and pestilence; maybe then his colleagues would not have been so inclined to opine about his clothing choices.

In the stillness of his own quarters, he finally released his breath. He pressed his fingertips to his temples. Perhaps he could stay there; skip the whole thing. He could have a glass of wine and read a book and hide away until the next morning. Then they’d have to introduce _the Dalish_ to him at his office. Or onsite. On _his_ terms.

No. Leliana would come for him eventually and he’d look like a sulking child.

Resigned to his fate, Solas unbuttoned his stained shirt and began his search for a particular blue pullover.

The sun had set by the time the Dalish arrived. There was no more colored light coming in through the stained glass. The soft lighting kept the place looking opulent as ever, but smaller. Fires had been lit for ambiance rather than warmth.

Her arrival was marked by a sudden migration of the TV crew to the foyer. Solas wondered what they would ask her. He’d been with the Chantry for over two years and no reporter had ever wanted to know anything about him. Certainly, that was due, in part, to the fact that Leliana did not want his… methods to be questioned by the Chantry at large. But he also didn’t possess the mystique of the Dalish. He didn’t come from a tribe of people who deliberately separated themselves from the rest of the world, abandoned all of their history but for a few silly fairy tales, and claimed to be the last of the true Elvhen.

_Ridiculous._

Still, he was curious. A now-empty glass of wine in his hand, the second of its kind, had relaxed his frustration with the turn of events into something more like detached cynicism. He looked to make sure Leliana and Dorian were still immersed in their conversation by the wine bar before making his way within earshot of the interview.

“Miss Lavellan--”

“It’s Lavell _an_ , actually. _Doctor_ Lavellan.”

“We heard you encountered Resurgence protestors at Skyhold’s gates this evening. Can you tell us if you exchanged words with any of them?”

“I stayed in the car.”

“Did the Dalish choose someone from Clan Lavellan specifically because of their history of clashes with members of the Resurgence?”

“This line of questions has not been approved by Ms. Montilyet,” Solas heard Cassandra interject. “You are on shaky ground, Marin.”

“Our open rejection of Andrastism has made the Dalish, as a whole, a target for the Resurgence.” The Dalish answered as though Cassandra hadn’t spoken. “Clan Lavellan is not only the largest, we have maintained our nomadic--”

“That may be true, but Clan Lavellan was the first to face violence at the hands of Resurgence members. Were _you_ at Markham, Miss Lavellan?”

“That is quite enough!” Cassandra barked. The crowd of cameramen was roused and began to disperse. “The interview is over. All of you, get out!”

“But Ms. Montilyet said--”

“Josephine will have much more to say to you when she returns, I can guarantee it.”

Solas stood aside while Cassandra bullied the entire crew out the door. The Dalish-- _Doctor_ Lavellan--looked on, bewildered, giving him a chance to appraise her.

She was not what he had expected; not that he would have admitted to expecting anything. That she looked young was not a surprise, as everyone of that time seemed young to him. But she had a sort of... vibrance. She stood out. He thought his eye might have been drawn to her even if he hadn’t been looking for her specifically.

Perhaps he had simply never seen another elf in the formal garb favored by the Chantry academics. That must have been it. He always saw them in uniform or dressed down in shabby denim. The Dalish he had come across had insisted on a sort of half-hearted rejection of popular apparel, ending up with a strange blend of ritual costume and hunting gear.

Certainly, her decision to dress to blend in had simply backfired. There was nothing else remarkable about her. She was neither particularly plain nor particularly stunning. She had a clear, olive complexion with dark features. Her hair, which could not seem to decide whether it wanted to be straight or curly and wanted brushing, was cut into a short, blunt style that emphasized an angular jawline. Along with a great deal of makeup, her haircut drew attention to large brown eyes, as well as to the twisting black lines of her vallaslin.

Who’s mark was that? Sylaise? He wondered if _Doctor_ Lavellan would be interested in knowing how many followers of Sylaise had been summarily executed for bringing her favors she considered to be of lesser quality than those given to the other Evanuris.

 _Ah. Well_. Perhaps he should _not_ have a third glass of wine.

It seemed, then, that the only remarkable thing about Dr. Lavellan was that she was quite tall for an elf of that time. That, however, turned out to be artificial.

“Ooh, Dr. Lavellan, those shoes!” Leliana made a squealing sound that Solas would never before have imagined she could make.

His eyes panned down to a pair of impractically high-heeled shoes. So, Dr. Lavellan was not unusually tall, only unusually frivolous.

“Creators,” the girl gasped. “You’re Leliana! I can’t tell you how excited I am to meet you. I’ve seen every episode of Mysteries of the Chantry.”

“Have you? I didn’t think we had many Dalish viewers.”

“To be fair, we don’t get a lot of channels in the _Melan’arlen_.”

“Well, between your taste in shoes and television, I think we’ll be fast friends,” said Leliana warmly. She looked out and caught Solas watching them. _Damn_. “But I must introduce you to our Elven expert.”

Leliana’s face looked angelic, but anyone who had worked with her for more than a week would have been able to tell she was scheming. Solas approached.

“Solas, don’t be shy. I know how anxious you are to meet Dr. Lavellan.”

“ _En’an’sal’en_ ,” said Solas. He dipped his head in vague reverence.

“ _Su tas ma_ .” Her pronunciation was stiff but her delivery was confident. “ _Ma’melin Nehna_.”

“ _Nehna._ ” A sort of childish name. Cutesy. If he had come across an elf called Nehna in his time, he would have asked--well, he decided he _would_ ask. “ _I ane nehnast?_ ”

She seemed taken aback for a moment. Then she laughed brightly. “ _Samelava_ ,” she said carefully. “ _Ane solast?_ ”

“ _Samelava_ ,” Solas responded with more natural emphasis.

He supposed she had a pleasant enough face, under the hair, makeup, and vallaslin. Her brown eyes were bright with flecks of green and gold.

Leliana was looking at them with a cat-like grin.

“Dr. Lavellan’s first name means, ‘joy,’” Solas explained, deciding it had been a little bit rude to speak a language one of his conversation partners could not understand. “I asked her if she was joyful.”

“And  _solas_ means pride, so I asked if he was prideful,” Nehna continued. “If it took me a moment to catch on, it’s because I’ve never met anyone who joked in Elvhen.”

“That is a shame, it is a rather amusing language.”

“Where did you study, Solas?”

“Solas is an accomplished autodidact,” said Leliana proudly.

“That’s… incredible.” She couldn’t hide her skepticism.

“Is unbelievable the word you were looking for?”

“Solas,” Leliana warned.

“Not at all. But you must have been a very dedicated scholar, so much of that knowledge--our language and our history--is still only preserved through oral tradition.”

“I did spend a little time among the Dalish. A clan far to the north.”

“Oh?”

“I found that their knowledge came far short of their arrogance.”

“I see.”

Leliana took Dr. Lavellan by the arm. “Solas is just grumpy because your being here means he’ll have to talk to someone more than once per week. Come meet Dr. Pavus, he’s much friendlier.”

Solas watched them leave with some satisfaction.

“She’s cute,” came a voice from close to Solas’ elbow. “Great legs.”

He looked down to see the writer, Tethras, standing beside him with an overfull glass of wine. “Well, don’t let me stand in your way,” he said dismissively.

“I don’t know if you know this, Chuckles,” said the dwarf, “but it doesn’t actually hurt to be nice. I’ve tried it a few times with varying success.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for any weird formatting. Google Docs does not play nice with AO3's text input. Using tables for the text messages seemed the best option but I'm open to other suggestions.
> 
> Language Notes:  
> I'm using FenxShiral's Project Elvhen and relying on the hope that most people are like me and have a flawed understanding of Elvish. Let me know if I've got it all wrong and my shitty Elvish skills are taking you out of the story.
> 
> Ivun: In my head, this name is pronounced, essentially, like the word 'Even.' In ritual, or if Elvish was being spoken, I imagine it would be closer to ee-voon.
> 
> Melan'arlen: I'm using this word to describe a place the Dalish occupy for a point in time, usually a season. The idea is that they travel between about four different 'homes' as a compromise to keep their nomadic lifestyle in the modern world.
> 
> Lavellan: I have always said Lah-VEL-lan. Folks in the game say it that way. The wiki begs to differ, so I put in Nehna's correction to be difficult. Take that, world.
> 
> En'an'sal'en/Su tas ma: A basic informal greeting and response.
> 
> I ane nehnast: And are you joyful?  
> Samelava: Sometimes


	3. Crater

**NEHNA**

* * *

 

Nehna had spent the better part of the night staring up at the ceiling, lying wide awake in the most comfortable bed she had ever had the opportunity to not sleep on. Now she watched the scenery go by while she gratefully sipped from a steaming cup of coffee purchased for her by Varric Tethras. THE Varric Tethras.

Haven stretched out all around them, spread wide across the foothills of the Frostbacks. The town had seen a boom in the late twelfth age when it had become a popular spot for Redcliffe’s most wealthy to build their second homes. It was a place to escape the big city sprawl; a return to the simple, country life. According to most accounts, Haven had been on its way to becoming a city in its own right. It might have surpassed Lothering in population, given just a few more years.

That was before the Chantry had discovered that Haven sat on top of the largest mass grave in Ferelden.

“We’ve purchased more than twenty homes here,” said Leliana as the van wound along the curving, tree-lined road, “along with four farms that had been passed down for generations. Not everyone wants to leave, of course. It’s been no small feat, clearing the space.”

It was no wonder they had had a mixed reception when they had stopped for coffee in Haven’s quaint downtown shopping district. For every family that had been given adequate compensation for their home, there was another family forced out by court order when ground-penetrating radar revealed templar remains under their garden.

How had they not known, though? That still bothered Nehna. Four hundred years did not seem long enough to forget such a cataclysm. If the shems of Haven had been Dalish, they would still have been talking about it like they had seen it themselves.

“How does a town lose track of a sacred temple?” Nehna asked.

Leliana made an excited noise and angled herself toward Nehna. “What is truly amazing,” she began enthusiastically, “is that this isn’t even the first time the Temple of Sacred Ashes has been lost and rediscovered! After Andraste’s ashes were placed there, the Temple’s location was wiped from history for ages. It was purposefully kept hidden by a secret templar order to protect our most holy remains. By the time the Hero of Ferelden found the Temple it was believed to be a myth altogether.”

“That was the Fifth Blight, right? Wasn’t that period well documented?”

“Yes. The foremost chroniclers of the Dragon Age were Brother Genitivi and my namesake, Leliana the Bard. Both of them are believed to have accompanied the Hero on her quest for the Sacred Ashes, yet no record of its location survived. We know the Temple was visited frequently after the Blight and prior to Most Holy choosing it as the location for her Conclave but we have no written description of it.”

Nehna found the conversation even more stimulating than her coffee. It was like getting to interact with an episode of _Mysteries of the Chantry!_

“How could it be forgotten after all that? Even if popular accounts didn’t include the location, the people of Haven must have seen something. Wouldn’t some of them have written journals? Letters to their families? Told campfire stories to their grandchildren?”

Leliana leaned in conspiratorially. “We believe that this was by design, as before.”

“That people were silenced? References erased?”

“Exactly.” She leaned back, smiling. “I could talk about this all day if you let me. While researching my own dissertation, I happened to discover several passages in the Bard’s songs that did not hold up to analysis. All of them about the Temple. We have found contemporary editions of historical tomes and autobiographical accounts with pages pulled out of them entirely. Our only remaining copy of Mother Giselle’s war diary was torn into a mangled mess.”

“But by whom?”

“I’m so glad you asked,” said Dorian, pressing between them from the rear row of seats. “That’s where I come in.”

Leliana let out an indulgent little sigh.

“Here we go,” said Varric.

Nehna was intrigued. She knew Dorian had been doing research into something more relevant to his homeland before being absorbed into the Conclave project but she knew little more than that. “You think the location of the Temple was hidden by Tevinter?”

“Better than that. By an odd little nationalist cabal called the Venatori.”

“Dorian’s personal obsession,” Leliana explained.

“I would challenge you _not_ to be obsessed after learning what I’ve learned, ladies.”

“There are some amusing conspiracy theories,” Leliana conceded.

“Conspiracy theories?” Dorian placed his hand over his heart dramatically. “You wound me.”

“Why would Tevinter nationalists cover up the Conclave?” Nehna asked. Tevinter history was not her strong point but she was aware that the empire had spent the better part of three ages fighting off continuous attacks from the Qunari. Surely southern politics would not have been a great concern? Unless it was religion, not politics that concerned them. “Oh! Do you think they killed Divine Justinia to give the Black Divine more validity?”

“For someone who insists she’s not a historian, Dr. Lavellan, you seem to have a decent grasp.” Dorian winked at her. “It’s a fine guess but, you see, the Venatori are not Andrastian. They follow the old ways.”

“You’re referring to them in the present tense!”

He waggled his eyebrows.

“Don’t get him started,” said Varric. “He’ll have you seeing ‘Vint assassins under every floorboard.”

The van climbed upward again, up and east into a weak, grey sunrise. They came up to a tall barbed wire fence lined with a black privacy screen. The gate was blocked by a security booth and flanked by guard towers. Nehna could just make out the silhouettes of rifle-toting templars on either platform as the van was waved through the gate.

A row of trailers had been parked just inside, blocking most of the dig site from view. Templars in fatigues and knit caps milled around, drinking from steaming cups or blowing warm air onto their gloved fingers. While Cabot herded everyone out of the van, a blond man in a long wool coat exited one of the trailers and the nearby templars scuffled to attention.

“Ah, good,” said Leliana. “Cullen’s up already.”

“Why wasn’t he at the party?” Varric asked. When nobody answered, he nudged Nehna. “You know, Curly’s a Marcher, too. He was Knight-Captain in Kirkwall before he took this gig.”

“Brontoshit,” said Cabot. “Cullen’s Fereldan. Born and bred.”

“Also true,” said Varric with a roguish grin.

The officer crossed over to Leliana. He gave her a reverent nod. “Morning, Director.”

“Commander. I trust we had no trouble last night?”

“Not a peep.”

“Told you so,” said Leliana smugly.

“Just the same, I’m glad I was here.”

“Mmhmm. Well, this is Dr. Lavellan, since you missed out on meeting her last night.” Leliana gestured toward her. “Nehna, Commander Cullen Rutherford is our Chief Security Officer.”

“Doctor,” he stood very straight and clapped a fist over his heart before holding out a hand to her.

Nehna was struck dumb for a moment, caught by surprise by the sincerity the Commander exuded and by the world-weary look to his otherwise youthful face. “Oh!” She regained her senses and shook his hand. “I, um, I’ve never been saluted before.”

“He doesn’t have to,” said Varric from behind her. “He’s just a stickler.”

“Messere Tethras,” Cullen acknowledged him. “Chantry bylaws regarding templar etiquette dictate that when one is introduced to someone for the first time--”

“See what I mean,” Varric elbowed Nehna playfully. “A stickler.”

Cullen took it well, flashing a tiny smirk. “My subordinates would agree with you, no doubt.”

The grinding of tires on gravel announced another van entering the site. This one was white and appeared to be full of people wearing bright orange shirts over thick thermal gear. They clambered out, chatting with one another boisterously.

“Ugh.” Nehna heard a groan from somewhere on her left and looked to see Solas regarding the newcomers arrogantly. She could have been forgiven for forgetting he was there entirely. He looked over at Leliana. “I’ll be in the field office.”

Leliana made a shooing motion with her hands in response.

“I should see if Lace needs help directing the workforce,” said Cullen. He gestured toward a red-haired dwarf who was now gathering the orange crowd into or more organized shape. “Pleasure to meet you, Dr. Lavellan.”

“Likewise.” Nehna watched him leave. He had very impressive… posture. Was she blushing?

She startled at a hand suddenly placed on her arm.

“A moment, Nehna?” Leliana led her a few paces away, toward the closest of the trailers. “I’m going to have Dorian show you around but feel free to investigate anything you like. We’ll have anything we don’t want you to see locked down.” She smiled sweetly but there was something hard about it.

“Thanks.”

“I trust you’ll remember and honor the nondisclosure agreement we had you sign.”

“Of course,” said Nehna. “I have no intention of being sued by the Chantry!”

“Oh, I wouldn’t sue you, Nehna.” Her smile stayed just as sweet. “I would destroy you.” She patted Nehna on the arm and then called out to Dorian.

* * *

The crater was just past the trailers.

It was almost like an outdoor amphitheater. The ground sloped inward in a progression of uneven steps, deeper and deeper. Jagged chunks of masonry stuck out like broken teeth. Some of them still had intact glass in the windows with dark pinks and greens catching what little sun there was to hit them. There were tiny colored flags stuck in the ground all over, so thick it was a challenge to walk around them.

Dorian and Nehna walked the perimeter while the orange-shirted workers started their careful digging down below. From above, she could almost see the layout of the building that had once been there. The walls had been strong and thick. Whole arches had survived not only the blast but the long sleep underground as well. Dorian recounted the legend of the Sacred Ashes.

“Why would Divine Justinia risk bringing so many people to where the ashes were kept? Couldn’t they have been stolen?”

“The Temple was just a gate,” Dorian replied. “An adventurer seeking the ashes would have to find the correct route through the labyrinth of tunnels below. They’ve been rendered completely inaccessible, of course, but from aerial views, we believe they lead to an extraordinarily treacherous mountain path.” He pointed up to the craggy peaks in the distance.

“All that, to protect cremains? Why didn’t they just throw them into the ocean?”

“That’s only the half of it! Once you reached the actual tomb, there were magical trials to pass. And a dragon’s nest.”

“A dragon’s nest!?”

“So, you see, the Divine must have felt confident that her guests would stay put here in the temple or otherwise die of their own hubris. Shall we descend?”

He led her down into the pit, slowly and carefully, explaining more of the history of the temple with every step. Nehna smiled to herself, thinking the Imperial University at Minrathous must be sorely missing Dr. Pavus.

Her cheerful admiration did not last, however. It was cut through by a strange, pervasive dread as they traveled downward. Nehna began to feel light-headed and paranoid. She felt an overwhelming sensation of being watched by someone she couldn’t see. Which seemed silly because _of course_ , she was being watched. There were templars all over. That wasn’t it, though. She crossed her arms and squeezed her elbows; an old nervous gesture.

“Cold?” Dorian asked. “We ought to have made sure you had a proper coat before dragging you out here. You’ll never get used to the dreadful southern weather, I can promise you that.”

“I’ll be alright, just have to keep moving.” She smiled and looked down in time to avoid another patch of pink flags. Her dizziness reached a new peak as she realized something. “Dorian, what are the flags for?”

“Ah, yes.” She knew what the answer was going to be even as he paused to find the right words. “Those mark where we’ve discovered remains.”

Nehna swayed a little and blinked rapidly to clear her vision. She was not going to faint. She refused to faint on her first day at this… _job_? What was this, exactly?

“It’s a lot, I know,” said Dorian kindly. “Let’s head to the field office. A second cup of coffee wouldn’t hurt either of us.”

Her sudden agitation dissipated as they moved away from the deepest part of the crater, leaving embarrassment in its wake. She felt silly. What must Dorian think of her, getting fussy over centuries-old bodies? He led her to one of the trailers, then paused with his hand raised as though he was considering knocking.

“What is it?” said Nehna.

“Your compatriot does not like to be disturbed.”

“My…? Oh. Solas.” Nehna rolled her eyes and marched through the door. She was pretty sure she heard Dorian chuckle as she did.

The trailer consisted of a kitchenette, a door that presumably led to a small bathroom, a desk with a computer almost old enough to fit in at the _melan’arlen_ , a round dining table with several battered old chairs, and, oddly enough, a bed. Solas sat cross-legged on the out-of-place bed with a cup of tea in his hand and a sour expression on his face.

“Pardon us,” Dorian announced as he followed behind Nehna. “Just coming in out of the cold.

“ _Ir abelas_ ,” said Nehna insincerely. “Did we interrupt something?”

“No.” Solas looked into his cup and sighed. “I don’t think today will be very productive. That is the trouble with drinking too much wine, is it not?” He looked at Nehna and smiled subtly.

Was this his way of apologizing for his behavior? Nehna held his eye contact for a long moment. Why didn’t he just apologize if that was what he meant? Could he be so aptly named? Were his eyes violet or was it just the lighting? Eventually, he looked back down.

Dorian cleared his throat and placed two cups of coffee on the table in front of Nehna. “We’ll be out of your hair momentarily.”

Solas was the first to laugh; a quiet little chuckle as he pantomimed combing his fingers through invisible hair. Nehna nearly choked on her coffee. Dorian was last to realize his faux pas and laughed loudest and longest.

Emboldened by the broken tension, Nehna asked, “Why is there a bed? Does someone sleep here?”

Just like that, the tension was back. The silence that followed seemed disproportionate to the simplicity of the question.

“ _Kaffas_ ,” said Dorian, plopping down into a chair.

“Pardon?”

“He means to say that this is coming out rather sooner than we expected,” said Solas calmly. “May I assume Leliana has assured your confidence?”

Nehna snorted. “If that’s what we’re calling open threats these days, then yes.” Solas raised his eyebrows at her. “I signed the damned NDA. You can tell me what’s going on or I can just assume someone is filming dirty movies here to raise funds for the dig. I can’t tell anyone about it, either way.”

Dorian chuckled again. Solas stayed very serious.

“What do you know about the Fade?”

Nehna looked at Dorian, who made pains to keep his expression neutral, then back at Solas.

“I’m Dalish,” she said simply.

Solas sighed. “I can hardly keep track of what information the Dalish have kept and what they have discarded.”

“ _I’ve’an_ ,” said Nehna through her teeth. She had resolved not to let him rankle her but in practice, it was harder than she would have liked to admit. “The Beyond. The spirit world. Most cultures have some version of it and believe we either pass through or remain there when we die. Andrastians believe it was penetrated and tainted, causing the first Blight. The Dalish believe the Elven gods are imprisoned there. Are any of those the answer you were looking for, _hahren_?”

She spat the title at him and he rewarded her with a scowl.

“ _The spirit world_. That describes it most concisely.” Solas rose from the bed and set his cup on the table so he could move his hands while he spoke. “Spirits do reside in the Fade. They are a reflection of us and the Fade is a reflection of our world; a reflection without time. Memories of a place, going back millennia, might be accessed in the Fade; more vivid than watching television.”

Nehna looked at Dorian again. She knew from their conversation the night before that Dorian and Leliana had, at the very least, read the abstract of her dissertation. They knew her expertise and they understood her agenda, to some small degree. Solas had not bothered to learn anything about her before deciding she was completely ignorant. Ignorant and gullible, if his lesson was going where she thought it was going. Dorian had the decency to look slightly abashed at the awkward situation.

“You’re saying you can access those memories,” she said carefully, looking back at Solas. “You access them in your capacity as a researcher here.”

“Everyone can access the Fade through their dreams,” said Solas. He was enjoying giving the lesson. “To those who possess the discipline to explore their dreams, a new world of ancient knowledge is opened up.”

There it was. Dreaming. The Dalish had no shortage of _Dreamers_ ; elves who claimed to see the past or the future, or to know the will of the gods, or to see the path to Dalish progress. They were charlatans, without exception. But, as far as Nehna knew, none of them had ever had the ear of the Chantry.

“Ancient knowledge. _This_ .” She gestured toward the nest of blankets. “This is where you’re getting your information? _This_ is where you come up with your conclusion about the artifact? You dreamed it?”

“Dreaming is a tool,” said Solas with infuriating serenity. “The memories of the Fade led me to the information I needed to determine that the artifact was elven.”

“How is this acceptable?” Nehna asked Dorian. She was vaguely aware that she was losing her composure. “How do you all go along with this!?”

“The Chantry isn’t like a university, Nehna,” said Dorian. “Dreaming and visions have a certain precedence in their research. It is part of the culture; mine included. There is a monastic order in Tevinter that specifically dedicates their lives to learning the skills that Solas apparently has.”

He was excusing it, she couldn’t believe it! How could he, unless…. “Do you _believe_ in this?”

“I believe in results,” Dorian answered sharply. “And he _has_ led this team to fascinating discoveries. So long as he backs his visions up with literature--”

“So long as he finds references that support his bias, you mean.”

“Leliana trusts my methods,” said Solas.

“I know! Frankly, that’s the most terrifying thing about all of this.”

“If you feel so strongly about it, you are welcome to leave.”

“Oh, no,” she mustered up the last of her restraint to hold his eye contact again. Staring him down. She was not going to submit to this… snake charmer. “I’m right where I belong. I’m making sure elves don’t get killed because some flat-ear had a dream that the Dalish murdered the Chantry’s last prophet.”

  


**SOLAS**

* * *

After the excitement of the morning, the rest of the day was quiet enough. Still, there was no point in even trying to access the Fade. As thin as the Veil was at the excavation site, it was still thicker than it had ever been meant to be. A very talented mage might have been able to light a candle, using every ounce of their power.

There were no talented mages in this world, however. Solas laughed mirthlessly to himself as he thought, _there aren’t a lot of candles to light in this world, either_.

It wasn’t the Veil that stopped him. There was no point in trying to access the Fade while he found himself so agitated. As long as that _woman_ was around he might as well put on hold any attempt to discover what had happened to his orb. He would have to wait for the archeological evidence to be dug up.

His tea had long gone cold as he had sat, brooding over his new predicament. This behavior, he finally decided, was unacceptable. He could not continue to act like a child whose toys had been taken away.

He went to place his mug in the sink, suddenly thinking of the intensity in Nehna Lavellan’s eyes as she stared him down. He had not been able to look away. The mug shattered as he slammed it against the stainless steel.

“ _Fenedhis_.”

He cleaned up his mess and left the trailer, shielding his face at the drastic change in lighting. The sun had come out. Some of the workers had even taken off their hats and scarves. He scanned the site, determined to find something to do that would keep his mind occupied. His traitorous eyes found her almost immediately.

Nehna had traded Pavus for Tethras. The dwarf gesticulated theatrically as he led her around the deepest portions of the excavation, what they believed to be the epicenter of the explosion. She nodded and smiled to acknowledge whatever he was saying but Solas could tell, even from the distance, that she was distracted. She looked pale. She hugged her oversized sweatshirt close around her as if she were very cold, or trying not to be sick. She kept looking to a certain patch of ground and, even as Tethras wandered, she kept bringing them back to it.

Then she stumbled.

Tethras leaned over her, probably asking if she was alright. Solas saw her nod as she answered but obviously, Tethras didn’t trust her assessment. He stood and looked around the site until he found a likely assistant.

“Hey Curly!” Tethras called out. “A little help, here?”

Solas watched the Commander rush down the slope to them. Everyone was watching now. The workers took a break from their tedious digging to see what the commotion was about. Nehna protested but the Commander took her gently by the arm and guided her back out of the hole with Tethras following close behind.

He couldn’t be sure where the notion came from; it was simply there, in his mind, as the workers began to get back to their work. He approached those of them closest to him as they painstakingly brushed soil off of a templar shield.

“Could I borrow you two for the afternoon?”

They blinked up at him in surprise. He had barely spoken to the workers before. Certainly, they had made up all manner of strange stories about him. No matter. He led them to the very spot Nehna had kept returning to and asked them to start digging there. He even had them show him what to do, how to shovel and probe without damaging the priceless evidence that might be below.

In less than an hour, they had uncovered the body. Leliana joined them, then, intrigued by Solas’ sudden industry and by the amulet worn by their quarry.

“This is a Grey Warden!” she exclaimed. “What was she doing here? Oh! Look how well preserved she is! I believe this is the wound that killed her.” She fingered the rough edge of a fractured rib.

“Let’s investigate the wound,” said Solas, keeping his tone neutral.

“Have you seen something, Solas?” Leliana’s eyes glittered with curiosity.

He wasn’t about to tell her that it had been _the Dalish_ who had sensed it. “I just… had a feeling.”

She grinned with academic fervor.

They dug. They brushed. They took notes and marked diagrams. It was maddening.

Then they found it: Embedded in the Grey Warden’s chest was the largest chunk of the orb they had yet discovered. And Nehna Lavellan had felt it.


End file.
